


You've got me Seeing Stars

by thefallenballerina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Doctor!Cas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefallenballerina/pseuds/thefallenballerina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam hits his head and has to pay a visit to the Emergency Room, Dean knows exactly what to expect: the endless paperwork and the sleepless night ahead, ect. ect. What he doesn't expect is the quite attractive physician tending to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've got me Seeing Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Second one posted! Thank you so much to the lovely people who liked/commented on my first post. Feel free to correct any medical inaccuracy, as always feedback is loved!

Four hours. Four hours of filling out forms and listen to patients cry and Sam’s repetitive questions. The receptionist must have a heart of stone, somehow resisting the Winchester good looks and signature smile when I asked to be moved up the roster, she only glared at me and growled “You wait your turn like everybody else. Sit.”

So I sat for two more hours until and now it is approaching midnight and we still haven’t seen a doctor yet. Emergency rooms made my stomach turn.

As I went over the symptom list and insurance forms for the six hundredth time out of sheer boredom, Sam asked “Where are we?” just like he did fifteen minutes before.

“At the emergency room.” I supplied, trying to be patient. I cannot believe this is how I’m spending my Saturday night.

He frowned. “How did we get here?”

I took a deep breath. “I drove us here.”

“You can drive?”

“Yeah, I can drive, Sam.” I sighed, here we go.

“Since when?” He cried, voice pitching up. “You’re twelve, Dean. You can’t drive.”

“I’m twenty- six.”

“No! No. No, you’re not. Where’s mom? I’ll ask her. She’ll tell us-” He was getting frantic and panicky when I cut him off, flinching.

“Mom’s not here,” I couldn't get used to him just mentioning her like that every couple minutes.

“Why not?” he asked, the genuine concern of a worried son just plucking at America’s heartstrings.

“Winchester?” Called a bored, professional voice, my head snapped up. ** ** **  
 **********

“Finally,” I mutter. The nurse beckoned for us to go with her, but when Sam stood he instantly clutched the ice bag he’s been holding to his head and says “ow, ow ow ow!”

“He got a bump on the head?” Asked the nurse, her tone switching to Sympathetic Professional: Motherly before pulling back a thin blue curtain and leading Sam to a bed with rails and sterilized sheets.

I nodded. “Yeah- yes. He was snowmobiling and got himself into a disagreement with a tree nearby.” I grinned, but she didn’t seem to get it. I cleared my throat. “And, uh. Well he’s had these headaches, and he keeps on asking the same couple questions over and over and he can’t really walk without stumbling, and he's been slurring his words. He’s just real out of it.” I concluded, feeling somewhat awkward. ** ** **  
  
****** She scribbled on her chart, not looking up once. “Mmm-hmm. Well, I’m just going to check his vitals, make sure there’s nothing else wrong.” It seemed pointless; you go snowmobiling, you hit your head, you get patched up at the ER. There’s nothing wrong with his heart or blood pressure. “The doctor will be in soon to see you.” The nurse said. Funny, the last time I heard the word ‘soon’ in this damn building it meant four hours of sitting on a hard plastic chair in the middle of a crowd of bloodied and bruised strangers. I’m not holding out too many hopes on how soon ‘soon’ actually is. ** ** **  
**********

I settled in to wait, letting my eyes drift shut to the soundtrack of the general hustle and bustle of the hospital; machines humming and phones ringing, patients occasionally crying out. An old man near us starts screaming at one point. My stomach lurches.

"Where are we?" Sam asks again.

I let my head drop on to my hands and sigh.

**********...  
  
**

I was jerked out of my stupor forty-five minutes later by the curtain being yanked back and a doctor stepping in. I didn’t see his face at first because he was facing Sam, but when he twisted around to ask if he's been throwing up or-

_Oh._

Okay.

He's only got on plain blue scrubs and the iconic white coat and stethoscope, but he pulls it off in a way that only draws attention to his face. His features were rough, like whoever designed him just couldn't be bothered that day. His eyes were this clear, ernest blue that seemed to shift and reflect every speck of light around them, stained glass if his face was a chapel. He had a three-day beard on his face, sleeping late or just forgetful? He's squinting at me now, his whole face crinkling with the effort.

I realize belatedly that I had just been asked a question. I blinked "What? Sorry..." Endearing puppy smile, the same one used when I didn't do my homework in high school.

He's still staring blankly. "Has he been throwing up or experiencing any nausea at all?" The words were professionally cool, rehearsed. He's asked these questions a million times and will ask them a million more before he retires.

"I don't think so doc," Grin charming, shown your teeth, bat your lashes, sparkly sparkly sparkly.

"Alright. Do you know what happens when someone gets a concussion?"

"I don't actually." Anything to keep him talking.

"Your brain is only about  the consistency of gelatin. It’s padded from the inner walls of the skull by fluids. The brain can move when accelerated or decelerated quickly, but if it is moved too fast, it can bump against the inner skull walls and cause bruising or bleeding. That’s what happened to your brother when he collided with the tree."

I frowned and muttered. "Well that'll put you off your tea,"

He didn't seem to get the sarcasm. "Right. Well, I have to send him in for an X-ray, to-"

Just then, an orderly with a shaved head peeked through the gap in the curtains. "Doctor?" He turned to her. "You're needed in bay thirteen." And she was gone.

"I have to go." He said, hurrying out quickly. Just before the curtain closes, I see him accept another clipboard chart from the same orderly and rush off in a different direction.

A moment later, Sam begins his questions again, this time about the hospital and the doctor, who I then realized had not told us his name.

I sit back and sigh, answering as best I could in my sleep-deprived state.

Dr. Sexy's face floats under my eyelids. The strong jaw, that cleft chin, the thick, dark hair and not to mention that _voice._

I tap my fingers restlessly and bounce my knee up and down.

"Who was the man who felt my head?" Sam asked. He sounds worried, like it was a violation.

"He was a doctor, he's gonna make you feel better Sam." I say, reverting to how I talked to him when he was eight because he seemed convinced that he was.

"Oh. Where did he go?"

"He went to make someone else feel better,"

"That's good," He said, looking down at his hands, idle in his lap.

"Yep." I stood up, suddenly struck with an idea. "I'm gonna get a cup of coffee, you want anything?" He shook his head no. "Okay, be back in a minute."

I wander quietly along sterile white corridors for what seems like forever, passing identical doors with identical rooms, just with different people occupying them. I hear machines whirring and beeping, and people crying and talking and even screaming, in one corridor.

When I see a woman in scrubs duck out of a room where the door's label reads 'STAFF ONLY' I decide that may be the best bet.

I try to walk into the room like I own it, worried that someone might notice I'm the only one not wearing scrubs of some kind, but no one even looks up. Good sign, I guess.

The coffee machine was to the left, on what looked like a crappy fold-out table next to a fridge and a little stack of artificial sugar packets and creamers, and a tower of paper cups behind it.

I pretended I hadn't spilled steaming coffee all over my left hand when the door opened and I twisted around upon hearing Dr. Sexy's voice "-just get me those EKG read outs, please Donna? Thank you."

He crossed the room, or got halfway when he turns suddenly, that may have been because of my muttered curses and frantic attempts at lessening the burn with flimsy paper napkins, but I'm choosing to believe it was because he realized I was the only non-staff member in the staff room.

He was right behind me in a single long stride. “What are you doing in here?”

I smiled, easy, relaxed, natural. Flirtatious. “Coffee” I said and gestured to the cup in my hand.

"I can see that. You could get coffee in the cafeteria, why are you here?" He hissed, leaning in closer. He smelled like the sterile cleanliness of the hospital, but with his own scent underneath. Saying "fuck it" to a coworker or two and devouring him right there definitely crossed my mind, but instead I only shrugged, still smiling that signature, birds-off-the-trees smile.

Still, the show must go on. “I guess I just had a few… questions about my brother’s care.”

He squinted in annoyance and sighed. “Ask away,”

I grinned. Got you. “Well you never told us your name.”

"Novak." He said shortly. I was really pissing him off now.

Novak. Not as good as Dr. Sexy, but it was good to put the face with a name.

"Doctor Novak," I nodded, trying to prolong this.Waiting for the opportunity I needed.   
****

He sighed, properly exasperated. "Yes. Now, you had questions?"

I smiled over the rim of my cup. Too easy. "Well, the first one being what are you doing tonight?"

It was hard to believe someone so beautiful could have that impressive of a bitchface. "I've got a date with a guy who just got stabbed in the heart." He deadpanned, totally serious.

I felt my smirk hit the floor. "Ouch..." I mumbled, talking to his shoes.

"Exactly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to attend to that." He stated firmly and rushed out.

I sighed at the depressingly lukewarm cup of coffee I now clasped in my hand.

****...  
  


When I found my way back to my brother’s room, he was still alone, staring off into space with a worried crinkle in his forehead. “Hey Sam,” I said, collapsing down on the hard plastic chair.

His head drooped down to dangle between his knees. “My head.” he groaned.

I shifted in my seat, hating his pain. “The nurse will be here soon for X-rays, then back to here for a prescription, we can head home after that.” I could deduce that much at least.

He only heaved another sigh.

...

The coffee is not only cold, but overcooked and bitter, it tastes like mud and battery acid and really doing nothing to help the pounding headache and bad mood this night is turning out to be.

It’s twenty minutes after I sit down when the same orderly who brought us here pokes her head through the curtain and leads us to a waiting room next to a thick wooden door labeled “RADIOLOGY”, which Sam was lead to after the customary “No phones-no keys- no metal” spiel. “Theres no chance you could be pregnant, right?” She joked, snorting.

Sam, on the other hand, looked utterly terrified. “Dean!” he demanded, “I’m _pregnant_? _No_.”

I tried not to roll my eyes and gave the nurse an apologetic look. “Everything’ll be fine, Sammy,” I said, trying to  be reassuring.

Five minutes passed. Then another five. And how long does a damn X-Ray take anyway? I shifted in my seat restlessly, the coffee may have been awful but it was still caffeine and still made me jittery just sitting in that fucking chair. I decided to go for a walk, I figured it must be better than my rotting my brain here.

I only got twenty feet or so around the corner when I stopped short in front of a very familiar pair of scrubs. Or rather, what’s filling out the scrubs.

"Mr. Winchester," Dr. Sexy says with an air of expectant disapproval.

"Doctor," I grinned enthusiastically and slid into 'seductive' as quickly as I could, taking half a step closer into his personal space and lowering my eyelids just a fraction, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. "You sure if you're not doing anything later? I'm up all night anyway, pick you up whenever...." I let the sentence trail off on its own, let him take it as he will.

He seemed to tense up, holding his clipboard protectively at his chest in an awkward position, as if he's forgotten it was even there. I could see his jumping pulse under the thin stubble on his neck, his breathing came shallow and fast. He looked downright feverish. Got you. "Mr. Winchester-" he begins, but I can hear the rejection in his tone already.

"Dean. Call me Dean."

"Dean." He grit out with far more force than necessary. "Is there something in particular you want from me?" His expression was strained, his eyes mildly panicked. Good.

"Well, that depends on what you're willing to give me, sweetheart." I smirked, allowing my eyes to roll over his frame. He was skinny, but not weak, he seemed sturdy but hardly a meat head if he ended up as a doctor.

A shadow passed over his face, whatever it was looked dark, heady. I wonder what it would be like to kiss that look off of his face, just to see what he would do.

I blinked, and it was gone. Could've been just a trick of the light, but I could practically see the gears turning behind his eyelids.

His stare flickered back to me, I felt exposed, studied. Controlled. I only realized I had leaned in when he stepped back a few feet.

The air between us was suddenly thick with embarrassment, mostly on his end. I cleared my throat and shifted from one foot to the other while he worked on staying stock-still and burning holes through the floor with his eyes.

“Dean.” He said, the picture of awkward social situations. “I’m going to go check on your brother now.” He rushed out, like each word was a bee sting on his tongue.

He walked away quickly, but I didn't miss the lightest brush of a fingertip against my hip. I was the barest little flick, but it was there. Damn.

I took a deep, shaky breath.

Damn.

****...

We were lead out of the X-ray room five minutes later and led into a smaller room with a desk, a sink, some cabinets, a chair, and an examination table with butcher paper that crinkled too loud when Sam sat on it.

We waited twenty more minutes until a cute brunette in another white coat came in to show us Sam’s brain on plastic black-and-white paper and points with the tip of her pen a lot only to tell us what Dr. Sexy had. Sam has a mild head injury. Let him sleep as long as he wants, wake him up every two hours. No TV or books, don't let him over-focus his eyes. The doctor will be in for a prescription for a mild painkiller soon.

When Cas showed up, it was awkward. I gave him credit, he did at least try to keep professional. He asked Sam about any allergies, if he'd had any bad reactions to medicines in the past. Although, he did hesitate before singing the 'script with a the standard doctor flourish. He squinted in my direction, tilting his head and leaning forward slightly. The same scrutinized feeling from earlier started creeping around my shoulders but he drew back, writing something else before his signature.

Sam took the ‘script, thanked the doctor, and we left.

...

It wasn't until nearly half an hour later, when we were in the running car with the key in the ignition, that I asked Sam for the ‘script. Prescription-strength Ibuprofen with an indecipherable scrawl underneath it… and eleven digits under that.

I blinked.

I blinked again.

I smiled a real smile, the first one in a week, and exhaled.

****...

Sam and Dean have already filled the prescription when Cas gets the time to check his phone, when he does, the number 1-866-907-3235  flashes, along with the text, “hey dr. sexy”. And he blinks. And he blinks again. And he smiles, and exhales.

****...

It may have been a year ago, but Dean still hates hospitals and still considers gagging at the intensely disinfected smell Cas brings home with him every night.

But maybe he can bear it, just once a week _maybe_ he can get over the smell and the looming air of sickness enough to bring his boyfriend lunch.

Days like today. It’s their anniversary but neither of them has mentioned it yet, maybe because they’re dancing around the milestone and what it’s supposed to mean or maybe because of the strict no-stupid-holidays rule, or maybe it just hasn't come up yet.

Cas emerges from their bedroom after having put on his socks and shoes, the last part of his morning routine while Dean drinks his third (and last) morning cup of coffee.

“Off to work,” Dean provides for him, grinning a little over his coffee cup at just how domestic they've become.

“I’ll see you later,” Cas says solemn but gentle. Sure. Just like always. He pauses on his way out the door to close the distance between them, leaning over the island for a quick kiss. He pulls back an inch to breath “Happy anniversary,” mockingly, a grin twitching up both of their lips. Dean kisses him this time, then he’s out the door and off to the hospital again.

_end._


End file.
